


The Man in Red

by Artyphex



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bittersweet, Bittersweet Ending, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Dancing, Fluff, I realized I never wrote these two kissing and that's a CRIME, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 13:10:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20115631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artyphex/pseuds/Artyphex
Summary: Aziraphale decides to attend a masquerade after not seeing Crowley in fifty years, and his attention is drawn to a man dressed in red.





	The Man in Red

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is inspired by these two beautiful art pieces by hollow-head on Tumblr. Go check them out!  
https://hollow-head.tumblr.com/post/186230305829/uh-oh-dont-look-now  
https://hollow-head.tumblr.com/post/186254040904/sequel-to-the-previous

After fifty years, Aziraphale began to miss Crowley. 

It is rare that much time passes without seeing the demon, and Aziraphale would say those rare fifty years are the most peaceful, blessed half-centuries he has, and he would be telling the truth; he would not say that’s what makes him miss Crowley terribly. 

He begins to expect--one may even say hope--for the demon to turn up. Half-expecting him to be standing there, smirking, the mischief in his eyes shining through his sunglasses when he turns the next corner. Aziraphale even begins to _ see _him as a flash of red and black out of the corner of his eye, only to turn and-- ah-- no. Just a ginger with a dark, eccentric taste in fashion that wasn’t Crowley.

Fifty years without Crowley and things tend to get a bit dull. While Aziraphale will always deny enjoying the Arrangement a tiny part of him will admit that covering a minor temptation for the demon was at least a nice change of pace from his usual assignments. Half a century of blessings without _ any _call-upon to work from the demon and things-- become stale. 

Perhaps that was how he ended up at the masquerade.

Angels shouldn’t attend masquerades. There’s nothing “holy” in a masquerade. Poets write of them being filled with deceit and lust and the occasional murder, while most weren’t quite so melodramatic they didn’t earn that reputation by being holy occasions. Aziraphale may claim that his very holy presence made the event ever so slightly less sinful and brought every soul there closer to Salvation. This may be _ technically _true but mostly only made him feel less guilty about piling his hors d'oeuvres plate high with expensive meats and exotic fruits. This was Italy after all, its wine and food were some of the best in the world, and the real sin would be to let any of it go to waste. 

Yes, angels shouldn’t attend masquerades, but Aziraphale _ loved _masquerades. He loved all parties really, no one more than the other, but tonight, he loved this masquerade. There were the clothes, prideful displays of wealth, yes, but Aziraphale could hardly resist. The women wore voluminous, layered skirts covered in lace and beading while the men wore intricate, frilled suits of velvet, silk, and embroidered patterns. Aziraphale’s own suit a heavenly blend of sky blue and gold, the style the highest fashion for 1625. The ballroom floor was a prism of color, and alive with the sounds of chatter, clinking glasses, and ruffling fabric. 

Then there were the masks. 

Undoubtedly the cause of most of a masquerade’s reputation, and it wasn’t undeserved. Having a new face, however impermanent, changes a person even if they aren’t trying to hide. Someone may know who you are under a mask, as you know them, but you still aren’t _ you, _ not really, not at a party like this. Aziraphale was aware that no one is truly _ them _at a party like this, but it was especially so when one could wear a mask. 

Perhaps _ that _ was why Aziraphale loved this masquerade, in the absence of Crowley, the _ feeling _surrounding such an event would have to do. Aziraphale’s own mask was an embracing, smiling sun and moon perched on top of a long stick, which Aziraphale used to hold the mask over his face. The other attendants wore masks of all sorts, most did not picture any particular face but were instead a beautiful, intricate display of different styles of carvings and paint. Some of the masks even had gems embedded into them, though, whether the gems were real or not was anyone’s guess. 

Aziraphale found himself, unconsciously, looking into the eyes of the masks to see if there was a serpent staring back out. There wasn’t of course. Though his eyes tried to fool him more than once. 

No one really stands out at parties like this, those attending trying so hard to stand out with their lavish clothing that everyone blends in. Another allure for Aziraphale, this and the fact that he shouldn’t be here, meaning Heaven would never think to look here, meant he could at least enjoy himself in private.

Or so it should have been, but as Aziraphale placed another complex fruit tart onto his plate, his eyes fell across the ballroom floor. A kaleidoscope of a hundred dancers spun around each other, moving in a careful beat to the tune of the music-- and someone stood out. 

The someone danced with a woman in a fabulous gold and white gown, who through her feathered mask stared at the someone with the same fascination one would use to stare at a fire. The someone was a man, Aziraphale presumed, tall and dressed in a fine velvet suit. A red suit. With it, he wore red shoes, and red gloves, and a red, devil’s mask. 

Aziraphale watched the man dance, he wasn’t actually all that good, not that it was a particularly hard dance. All it entailed was grabbing the hand of a partner, twirling around a bit, and once the music cued moving onto the next. However, those who frequented these types of parties did it with an elegance this man clearly lacked, but it didn’t stop each of the man’s partners from staring at him with that same fascination. Maybe that’s to be expected when a man dressed so boldly danced so clumsily. 

The way the mask was shaped shaded the man’s eyes from view, and even if it didn’t, there was no way Aziraphale could get a good look from here. He might be able to see if he got close, but in order to do that, the man would either have to finish his dances, or Aziraphale would have to start his. 

Aziraphale shook his head. What was he doing? It wasn’t Crowley. Crowley wasn’t here. Even if he was, he wouldn’t show up wearing a _ devil’s mask. _ Even _ Crowley _had some ounce of subtlety. Aziraphale huffed. This was getting ridiculous. Alright then, he’d enjoy his evening tonight, and tomorrow, he’d finally start properly looking for the demon. This much silence was making him nervous, his Enemy had to be off cooking up some serious trouble somewhere in the world and Aziraphale couldn’t just sit idle and let it happen now, could he? 

The music cued. 

His eyes went back to the man in red, he had switched partners, and now danced with a woman in a stunning sapphire blue gown and sea-inspired mask. Aziraphale sighed, and put down his plate of food on the side of the buffet table. The night wasn’t all that young anymore. If he was going to dance at all, he should start now.

***

The man in red was harder to spot on the ballroom floor. Aziraphale would catch glimpses of him, his velvet suit going in and out of view as dancers bobbed around him. 

Aziraphale kept his mask pressed to his face as he danced, as did those with masks of similar styles which was likely the reason the dance only required holding onto your partner with one hand. Aziraphale was unfortunately not paying too much attention to his dancing partners, as much as he tried to, his mind kept wandering to places to search for the demon.

The music cued.

His first partner was a young woman, long black hair, dressed in a voluminous purple gown. She wore a mask that stopped halfway down her face and displayed an arrangement of flowers around her eyes, she smiled when she took Aziraphale’s hand. 

Aziraphale was currently in Venice, Italy. There was nothing particularly bad happening in Italy. Rome had fallen long ago, and Crowley was not responsible for that even if his reports to hell said otherwise. Rome was doing well actually, with all its new art. Crowley likely wasn’t in Italy, then. 

The music cued.

He grasped hands with another woman, older now, trying to look young in her golden dress and full-faced white mask of a beautiful, porcelain face. Aziraphale nodded at her, but his mind continued to wander. 

He should return to England, that was always a safe place to at least check. Crowley liked England, as did Aziraphale. He’d been meaning to return anyway, he’d missed England. Even if Crowley wasn’t there he could spend a few days seeing how it’d changed in the past few decades. How long had it been? Ten years? Twenty? 

The music cued.

He barely noticed, he just looked up to see himself grasping hands with a man. He wore a very luxurious, emerald green suit and golden half-faced mask. The man was smiling as if he’d just said something funny, and so Aziraphale laughed.

If he wasn’t in England, where to next? There was always the Colonies. Across the sea in America. Aziraphale had heard all sorts of very nasty things coming out of America. Crowley may very well be there. It _ was _far away, after all, it did make sense. Aziraphale nodded to himself. Alright, if Crowley wasn’t in England, Aziraphale would be on the next ship to America. Ready to thwart whatever demonic activity Crowley had been up to in his absence. 

The music cued. 

Aziraphale’s fingers laced into a red velvet glove. 

The man in red’s suit had more detail up close, there was a subtle, darker velvet sewn onto the overcoat, curving in the shapes of branches and leaves. Adding a complex layer of texture to the man’s clothing. Aziraphale found himself admiring the suit, it fit the man’s body in a very-- well-made way. He still was a mediocre dancer at best, his feet didn’t land the steps quite right, and turned as if he wasn’t sure if he wanted to lead, or let Aziraphale lead. 

Aziraphale’s eyes, however, were more on the mask. 

It was a polished crimson, and devil’s face grinned at him. The brows of the mask came forward in a way that shaded the eyes incredibly well. Aziraphale could barely make out their color. As they spun on the dance floor, he watched carefully as the light of the ballroom flickered just enough to illuminate the mask. Did he catch-- a light brown? No, was it amber? That couldn’t be, what human had amber eyes? They spun again. The man’s pupils, they were slit. Another spin. No, no on the second glace they weren’t. A trick of the shadows.

The man was watching him, Aziraphale realized, those shadowed eyes staring out of that devil’s face. Aziraphale felt his face flush. Oh _ lord, _ he’d noticed. The poor man. He’d noticed Aziraphale staring. Of course, he would _ notice, _anyone would notice being stared at like that. His mouth went dry. 

“Do forgive me,” Aziraphale said, moving his mask from his face. “You’d looked very familiar.” 

The man in red gripped Aziraphale’s hand tighter. 

The music cued. 

***

Aziraphale had fled the ballroom floor as discreetly as he could. Making his way through the colorful maze of dancers and back to his hors d'oeuvres plate on the buffet. The food was still untouched.

He didn’t dare look back to the ballroom and risk catching sight of that man again. Oh lord, what must he think of him? He looked down at his food, the sight of the fruits and meats not nearly as appetizing as they had been while he was gathering them. 

Oh dear, why did he have to go and do this? Why couldn’t he let Crowley’s absence be a simple absence and have no effect on his evening? He put the plate down, it vanishing before it hit the tablecloth. He’d lost his appetite, and it was rather late now anyway. Aziraphale had eaten and danced so it wasn't like he’d wasted tonight, but it was time to leave. He had to try and board a ship to England in the morning. 

“What?” a voice whispered by his ear. “I don’t get another dance?”

Aziraphale went stiff.

Someone was resting their chin on Aziraphale’s shoulder, close enough that their red hair brushed his cheek. Someone was holding up a grinning, red mask with a red gloved hand. Someone had yellow slitted eyes and wore a smile to rival that of the devil’s face. 

No, it _ can’t _be. 

_ “Crowley,” _Aziraphale said, “Oh, you can’t be serious!” 

Crowley stepped back from Aziraphale, who turned around to face him. Yes, it _ was _indeed Crowley. Dressed head to toe in red, and sporting a devil’s mask. Oh, how Aziraphale was beginning to regret all that embarrassment. 

“What?” Crowley asked, smile fading as if he genuinely didn’t understand the problem. 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “It never occurred to you to be subtle about being a--” he lowered his tone, “--_ demon _in public?”

Crowley flicked his serpent’s eyes over Aziraphale. “Really? You’re criticizing me dressed like that?” 

“I’m not _ flaunting _my-- otherworldly status.” 

“You’re flaunting something, angel,” Crowley said, earning a displeased noise from Aziraphale. “Anyway, I’m not really a _ demon _right now am I?”

Aziraphale blinked. “Sorry?” 

Crowley moved to stand next to Aziraphale, gesturing with his mask in his hand, “Look around, we’ve all got masks, we’re all the same tonight.” 

“Oh, good lord,” Aziraphale said, moving a step to the side from Crowley. “The Hell are you doing here anyway?” 

Crowley shrugged, “Demonic business. What the Heaven are you doing here?” 

“I was--” Aziraphale paused for a moment, thinking of a reasonable excuse. “Enjoying my last night in Venice.” 

“Last night?” Crowley said. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale gave a brisk nod, “and I was just about to leave.” 

“Me too,” Crowley said, all too casual. “Where you headed? I’ll walk with you.” 

Aziraphale paused, staring at Crowley. 

He acted frighteningly normal. Like no time had passed at all. They were immortal, and fifty years was nothing in the grand scheme of eternity, but after so much time Crowley normally acted different. Made an attempt to catch up. Acknowledged that time had passed somehow. Here, he acted as though they had just spoken yesterday. 

“The docks,” Aziraphale said, “I have a ship to catch.” 

Crowley nodded, “Right then. Let’s go.” 

***

As the party dissolved into the space behind them, the streets of Venice became very still.

Aziraphale carried his mask in one hand, as did Crowley. They both walked in silence, not knowing what to say to fill the fifty-years worth of silence they had between them now.

“Itches after a bit doesn’t it?” Crowley said. 

“What does?” 

“The mask,” Crowley said, holding his mask up by the strap. 

“Oh, I didn’t have that kind of mask, Crowley,” Aziraphale held up his sun and moon, perched on its stick. 

“Oh.” 

The air was entirely unmoving tonight, the sky cloudless. The canals of Venice so still the stars reflected off of them like glass. It was like walking on a sidewalk through Heaven. 

“Where have you been?” Aziraphale asked. The question seemed to shatter the stillness. 

“You know. Around,” Crowley did not look up. 

_ “Crowley,” _Aziraphale said. Stopping on the sidewalk. 

Crowley stopped reluctantly, turning to face Aziraphale. “C’mon angel, can’t we just talk?” 

Aziraphale shook his head. Anchoring his feet to the ground. “You don’t get to disappear for so long and not at least tell me where you were.”

Crowley sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Hell uh-- buckled down for a bit there. Had a close call after Hastur decided to ‘check-up’ on me. Had to go off for a while to make up for it.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “Oh God--” 

“Hey, I’m alright. I’m back now.” He smiled as he said it, and continued down the path. 

Aziraphale started walking again, catching up to Crowley, walking silently by his side. 

“What _ were _you doing there, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley made an unamused face. “I was meant to tempt a guest,” he admitted. “Important guy. Married man. I was supposed to have him sleep with some serving girl, you don’t want to hear about it.” 

“Ah,” Aziraphale paused for a long while. “Did you… accomplish that?” 

“Eh, got a bit distracted. I’ll get to it,” Crowley responded. 

“I... see.” 

“What were _ you _doing back there?” Crowley asked. 

“I was… ” Aziraphale paused, not knowing how to phrase it. “That party felt familiar.”

Crowley said nothing for so long Aziraphale didn’t expect him to respond. Until he finally said a very quick, very quiet. “Oh.” 

They walked in silence, side by side, enjoying the sound of the other’s footsteps until the docks came into sight. The edge of Venice before them. Stars spread out perfectly above and below them, going off into the distance like if you stepped off the dock, you’d fall through them, unendingly. 

“Where’re you going?” 

“I don’t know, really, I was going to go to England to look around for you. Now-- I suppose I’ll decide along the way.” 

Crowley said nothing, responding with a nod, his eyes were fixed on the star-dusted water.

“The ship will be here at dawn,” Aziraphale said, “I’ll miraculously have a pass. Maybe for us both if you’d like.”

He looked up. “I would. The ship could come now, you know.” 

“I know.”

Aziraphale sat on the edge of the dock, letting his satin shoes dip into the water, rippling the stars. 

“Won’t you ruin those?” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale shook his head. “They won’t get wet.” 

Crowley settled next to Aziraphale on the docks, placing his mask in his lap, letting his own red boots dip into the water. They listened for a while to the sound of splashing, watching the stars distort before them. 

“Hey, Aziraphale?” 

“Yes, Crowley?”

Crowley gripped the strap of his mask in his hand. “Sun’s not quite up yet, so the party’s still going on, technically.”

Aziraphale stared at him. 

“You’ve got an imagination, don’t you? Let’s pretend a bit, while we wait.”

Aziraphale’s heart did something akin to a dance. “Pretend what?”

Crowley lifted his head up, eyes closed, taking a very long, slow breath through his nose. “Let’s pretend,” he said, “That we’re just two strangers that met at a ball. Let’s pretend I don’t know it’s you. I haven’t seen you in a while and we’ve got the masks. It’ll be easy.”

Aziraphale’s hand clenched against the wood of the dock. “And what… would you suggest we do?” 

“I’d say,” Crowley turned his head to him. “The things people who meet at balls do.”

Aziraphale stared at Crowley. Those serpent’s eyes. Those eyes he’d spent the whole night looking for. They glowed in the dark. “Crowley…”

“I’m not Crowley, angel,” He lifted his hands to Aziraphale’s face, his velvet gloves so soft and warm against his skin. “Just a man in a red suit.” 

The kiss did not make it easy to pretend. It was not the kiss of a stranger. It was a kiss of an old, old love. It was a kiss the stars go still for. It was a kiss that could fill fifty years of silence. 

“I missed you, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, not opening his eyes, hands gripping the sleeve of his suit. 

“Angel…” Crowley whispered. 

“Right,” Aziraphale nodded, resting his forehead against Crowley’s. “I’m not your angel, am I?”

“No, I think you can still be that.” 

Crowley guided Aziraphale's lips to his own with a velvet hand. Shifting to be closer, to wrap his arms fully around him. His devil’s face mask sliding off his lap and into the water below. They stayed there on that dock, two strangers in masks, until the sun rose and the ship came into port.

**Author's Note:**

> So that was... self-indulgent. 
> 
> I fought every bone in my body not to make this full-blown angst because apparently I am allowed to write one (1) fluffy fic per year and that is IT. Since I was writing it based on an artist's work and the work was not at all angst, I decided to stick with bittersweetness, and I think I like this direction better. 
> 
> If you want to find me, I'm at heimurinn.tumblr.com!


End file.
